bored with
language
and other acts of denial

we made a pledge to honour
only the most
profound moments

like the surprise caused
when blood stops flowing
to a limb.

It’s like

Reading a book with half the words blacked out

It’s like

Remembering something that has never happened

It’s like

Travelling to the end of the earth

It’s like

Starting something from the beginning

It’s like

Forgiving yourself

our conversation turned
to a feedback loop

I collected the things
we almost said

and built a memorial
in the park near our house.

our neighbours brought objects

like old mobile phones
and sheets of transparent paper

to make a shrine

and I would come each day
with new words

as my offering.

i tried to draw a
memory map
of the first house
we ever lived in.

the hallway kept
looping back on itself
an eternal return
in my imaginary
floorplan.

***

you were in the kitchen
madly googling bloodlines

and other diaphanous things like

middle names,
insignias and
border-crossings.

i took your findings and
marked out our territory

a vanishing point between

then and there.

the seventeenth floor

thick air

& flickering

classrooms filled with clouds

the atmosphere outside

evaporating

she grew cacti
on the roof
of every house
she had ever owned.

the neighbourhood cats
would weave along
the corrugated iron
like guerrillas through a
mine-field.

in some ways,
it was a secret pledge
she had made with herself:
not to let anyone in.

her own juicy piece of armor
that thrived
like a bruised fruit
swelling

redfern st

glistening with fever

a clear autumn sky

and grant mc lennan.

***

i found 3 coins from 1988

-the year we met-

in an old handbag

i was about to throw away.

***

it reminded me

of the way you believe

that objects have secret lives

which move against each other

like songs.